


On the Nature of Daylight

by squishyflamingo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AND YOU GET A SELPHIE TILMITT, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Friends to Lovers, Gen, I just love Final Fantasy so much, M/M, Medium Burn, Reader-Insert, Underage Drinking, With cameo appearances from EVERYONE, YOU GET A CLOUD STRIFE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 03:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13918365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishyflamingo/pseuds/squishyflamingo
Summary: "Time isToo Slow for those who Wait,Too Swift for those who Fear,Too Long for those who Grieve,Too Short for those who Rejoice;But for those who Love,Time is not."Time Is by Henry Van Dyke





	On the Nature of Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm doing this, but Final Fantasy is a series that has grown up with me. 20+ years of sharing memorable stories and characters with my siblings, my friends, evoking so many emotions in me and inspiring my creativity.
> 
> Final Fantasy XV, though it took centuries to come out, is now one of my all-time favorites of the franchise.
> 
> I mean, if you're actually taking your valuable minutes to read this dumb reader-insert fanfic, then you understand what I'm talking about.
> 
> What else is there to say except here's a playlist I've been crying..er - writing to and I hope you enjoy it! (Not beta'd AT ALL.)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-kWaYW-KaQx8nBGDq7kDoUMRM9LfNHsr

March 7, 751 M.E.

She writes to you on your 16th birthday.

The letter was left in your mailbox before any usual mail ever arrived. (You swore you’d heard the bark of a dog nearby, but thought nothing of it as you let yourself into the townhouse.) It comes in a thick, surely expensive envelope, elegantly written on eggshell colored stationery paper that smells of sylleblossoms. You had never forgotten that gorgeous, fresh scent and whenever you caught whiff of it near local flower stores the sensory memory would envelope you in the childhood nostalgia of when you visited Tenebrae.

A butter knife is used to painstakingly remove and preserve the wax seal (the seal is too beautiful to ruin and you keep it in a memory box) - there’s no return address.

Huh. Weird.

Your younger sister Pluvia was at blitzball practice and your older brother Imbris was probably with his girlfriend Praesidia. Again.

Vee, Bree and Pree - the stars in your sky.

If Bree didn’t propose to Pree soon Vee and you were practically chomping at the bit to do it for him. Who cares that they're just barely 18, they were so infatuated with one another it was sickening. Vee and you would need to pay tribute to quite a few goddesses within the Cosmonogy of Eos - Nymeia to guide their fate, Menphina to bless their love, Etro for strength against adversity, and Cosmos to give you both enough patience not to incessantly meddle in your poor brother’s affairs.

Which brought you back to this peculiar, mysterious note unfolded on your bed as you scrutinize it with legs crossed.

It was much too _nice_ to be a birthday prank.

An anonymous love letter from a secret admirer?

Ch’yeah, fat chance in hell.

It couldn't have been any of your schoolmates. Another celestial body that lit up your existence, your best friend Ora, had baked you the most ludicrous cake. 5 layers, each different types of chocolate (dark, milk, white, caramel, coffee) from scratch. Home room had sung to you, to both your everlasting appreciation and embarrassment. Prompto, your adorable shadow, bought you an issue of one of your favorite comics.

Your parents were out on business across Lucis and had facetimed you, gushing with heartfelt well wishes.

A party wasn’t planned, but your siblings were going to order takeout and a movie that weekend. (Simple and clean - you wouldn’t have it any other way.)

The note had you stumped. Not a social pariah, but also nowhere near as popular as the high society kids, it wasn’t worth anyone’s effort to play games.

So you start to read.

_Dear Y/N,_

_I understand this is strange, but I felt compelled to thank you. You are one of very few people that Prince Noctis mentions in our correspondence back and forth, and it eases my heart to see this._

_He explained to me when he began his secondary education, his first academic experience away from private tutors, that it had been stifling and lonely. Almost worse than staying in the Citadel. Students his age have ostracized him, claiming his attitude to be holier-than-thou, or idolize him to the point of infatuation._

_Remaining optimistic has proven to be a challenge to Prince Noctis. He wants to immerse himself within Insomnia, striving to personally know his future subjects better and not just be a face on a teleprompter or in a newspaper._

_You, however, are friends with his Retainer Ignis Scientia. Moreover, his cousin Miss Oratia. The ease in which you have enfolded him into your friendship, the normalcy of it along with companionship from dear Prompto and Gladiolus, gives me strength for what is to come. It is a rare, beautiful thing that is in you, and though he may not convey it enough, Prince Noctis is so grateful for you as well._

_I leave you with an invaluable piece of advice my mother has taught me: We often neglect that the measurement of Time is manmade. A day can just be the rise and set of the sun, but we have created a quantification that steals the splendor of merely living and treasuring the miracle of dawn. Mankind abides by a force we’ve caged ourselves in, dreading twilight, failing to make the hour, the minute, the second, our own once more._

_May the Astrals look over you and yours. Please never forget that I am just a letter or postcard away. Just call for Pryna._

_Luna_

The expression twisting your mouth must look ridiculous. You don’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. _The princess_ of Tenebrae, the Oracle, had contacted you specifically to communicate her appreciation for befriending Prince Noctis of Lucis.

You throw yourself back onto your bed, paper pressed to heated cheeks, recalling meeting said prince just a couple of months ago.

\---------------

Ora had mentioned she was being picked up by her cousin, Ignis, and you were well aware about who he was. Perhaps also extremely aware that Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum would most likely also be in that car.

Despite coaching yourself to remain calm a part of you feels like peeing itself when a gorgeous, classic vehicle with sleek lines and design to die for pulls up behind school grounds.

The tinted windows were walls separating worlds - your denizen, mundane lifestyle pales in comparison to what lay beyond.

Ora pinches the back of your arm to shake you from your reverie, smirking as she slips blood red locks behind her ear. The driver side door opens, trouser clad legs that go on for miles gliding out, followed by…

Oh, Ramuh strike you down.

You were afraid the high pitch noise you could hear, like a balloon being squeezed of air, was yourself.

Compared to Oratia’s cousin you were an awkward thing in a uniform you had tried to customize - a boy’s tie taken from your brother after he graduated, bleached then dyed the standard maroon of the girl’s bow you were meant to don (the dye was cheaper than an actual maroon tie!), Doc Martens that were a fine line from acceptable footwear and too alternative, blazer sleeves always rolled up, a simple amethyst bracelet you crafted yourself (Vee wore a matching one) on your right wrist. You weren’t sloppy, but it was definitely not standard faire.

This boy - Six, this MAN with a devastating triangular jaw (remarkably alike to Ora’s), Roman nose, and eyes forged from a green Firaga spell that...were probably scrutinizing you, wondering why you were staring. BREATHE Y/N. **_BREATHE_ **.

And so, harnessing the business woman you father tried to breed you to be, you squash your utter thirst for this individual, thrusting out a hand to shake.

“Y/N Tempus. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Ora looks impressed; she’ll poke fun at your ogling later.

Ignis’s defined mouth ticks up at the corner, removing a driving glove to mimic the gesture. “Ignis Scientia. The pleasure is mine,” he murmurs, reserved but candid, with the same crisp accent Ora possesses. Though his has underlying bass notes that cause your touching skin to sizzle.

“Want to come with us?” a tired-sounding voice interjects, and you recoil like an edgy coeurl, trying to find its source.

And there he was, the Crown Prince, hanging out the back door of the car with Prompto Argentum practically on top of him. NBD, y’all.

The excitable blonde waves at you. You laugh hysterically as Ignis argues against the idea. What the actual fuck. Prompto became your adopted sunflower Fresher bro after you’d lent him Justice Monsters: Renzokuken, but the dork never told you he was the PRINCE’S FRIEND. A _small_ detail to omit from your tête-à-tête!

Dang, it was probably a death sentence to refuse Noctis Lucis Caelum anything anyway. “You’re too kind, your Highness.”

\---------------

Oratia could have continued her tutoring with the same pedagogues that had taught Ignis and tried desperately to educate Noctis before he jumped proverbial ship. In fact, her father Consilio (Ignis’s uncle), had insisted upon it. But Ora had wanted the same missing piece that the prince longed for.

Friendship.

And being the daughter to an esteemed Citadel advisor whose lifeblood practically existed for King Regis, well…

A strong father-daughter relationship a Citadel advisor did not nurture.

So Ora started public school at 15, AP Honors classes all throughout, skipping a grade and already knowing that she wanted to be a Citadel Archivist. (That, at least, made her father happy.) You were in several classes together, sharing a similar offbeat humor, interests in the history of Eos, a rebellious but stylish fashion sense.

And on occasion, when Ignis needed a break from Noctis’s glassy eyed incomprehension of something literature related, Ora would step in.

Which brought her (and now you) to Noctis’s modern condo in shades of slate and black with hints of teenage boy littered about in a dirty hoodie left on a chair, video game consoles hooked up to an impressive entertainment center that you swooned at...a 4 pack of Ebony drinks on the living room’s glass coffee table.

Oh, no, those were actually Ignis’s you realize as he takes one, scolding Noctis and Prompto for leaving the pack out to get tepid and why did they never ask him to share, because he gladly would…

You grin widely at that. How pleasantly domestic. Ordinary. You scan the rest of the layout, hackles no longer raised at the out-of-place feeling you’d begun to have being here.

Was it inappropriate to add to your Snapchat story a video of Noctis’s pad, captioned “It’s good to be King”? On a scale of 1 to “are you a daemon in disguise”.

That was also the first time you’d ever met Gladiolus. He had been waiting for them to arrive, hip leaning against the kitchen island looking like Titan made human and...reading. An unfinished tattoo of what appears to be a bird of prey spans his deltoid and trapezius in fantastic depiction. Somewhere you imagine Vee is screaming - even at 13 years old tatts are her weakness.

Magnificent.

Gladiolus was a merciless flirt too, and apparently this was not news to Ora. He thanks her for a novel recommendation she’d given him, all but towering over her like a casual wolf to an unimpressed sheep.

The grins shared are genial, underlying an old game. Your bestie easily deflects the rest of his advances, introducing you to him.

You both have younger sisters. He complains about Iris, but you are no stranger to the underlying affection laced in his big brother grievances.

The longer you stay and open up to them the less they seem untouchable. Noctis, stood next to you, was somewhat shorter than you’d imagined (to be fair, you imagined monarchs being 100 stories tall, including ego). Kid was 14, so he’ll grow, in all meanings of the word. You count the imperfectly perfect beauty marks on him, warmed as you read between the lines of his adolescent aloofness.

He really did just want to be himself and not have to obey a strict royal instruction or code left by his ancestors. That paints him in a whole new light for you.

Prompto saunters over, throwing an arm around your shoulder, and you mirror the gesture. Endearing cinnamon roll. “Chicky, welcome to the Brotherhood.”

Endearing cinnamon roll with a runaway mouth. Your side-eye could have leveled a behemoth.

The younger man snorts, “Hey, Ora’s been alright with it and there really isn’t a gender neutral term for brotherhood. I ain’t your sister, and I'm not about to call it a hood, dude.”

Noctis does a spit-take, trying and failing to capture the soda that escapes his mouth. Ignis sighs the sigh of the most tolerant being to inhabit the universe. Gladio and Ora interrupt their conversation to lose their collective shit.

You feel as if the brightness inside you is enough to overtake the Starscourge on singlehanded.

\---------------

Bree and Vee knew about that day. When Prompto would walk home with you once in a blue moon Pluvia chats his ear off and he always listens. He even stays for dinner a couple of nights, dad approving of Prompto’s affable demeanor and manners. Your mother acts like she wants to _eat_ him or marry him off to one of her daughters.

Woman, calm thy passions.

Imbris has begun university and is saving munny by living with your parents for a bit, so when he’d get back late more often than not Gladio accompanied him (same metal workings class - who knew?). Gladio would then take Prom back to his house. As predicted Vee would grill the older teen about his wicked ink.

Gladio waxes poetic on the greatness of getting tattooed. Pluvia is going to be more covered than him.

But when you show Bree and Vee the note from Princess Lunafreya Nox Fleuret your brother just about flipped the family room couch with his sisters still on it. That evening Pluvia and you roll around atop her duvet, rereading the letter into the wee hours of the morning, lulled by the fragrance of sylleblossoms.

While the household is still asleep you go barefoot out into soft daybreak and call the name Pryna.

From furls of mist and fog a happy dog yips back in answer.

\---------------

Taped, tea and tear stained, you had coveted that bit of paper in your memory box, clutching it like a vulnerable, exterior part of your soul, watching both of your parents be swallowed back into the cradle of Eos.

Vee and Bree were bookends on either side of you, keeping you together with hands clasped or connecting where they could.

How was this real?

Just the other day dad told the worst joke while packing to leave, attempting to distract his worried children as their parents departed to the politically tumultuous land of Ueltham, the farthest they’d been from the protection of the Wall.

An infantry of Magitek soldiers had killed them. Smeared them off the planet with no more forethought than if they were pests.

Daemons, that was one thing. Nifelheim acting out so unreservedly in their ire to strike unarmed people of Lucis down...The bastards assert that the group acted on Lucis’s behalf as terrorists.

Bureaucratic unrest intensifies.

The funeral is fragments of apologies.

You want something to anchor you and get you through this, but your faith has abandoned you, so you have abandoned your faith. Not even the myths of Insomnia’s Death, its cousin Sleep nor Etro recited by father hold consolation, to persuade you that Death is to be revered and always holds a purpose.

Honorable King Regis himself pays his respects.

Imbris reminds you about it. You don’t remember it happening, or even saying thank you.

\---------------

Vee and you became wards of the city. It’s uncertain how much influence Noctis and Oratia had on the situation, but Oratia’s father takes you into his custody. Your brother, old enough to be on his own, is a ghost after the burial.

Abandoned.

Praesidia does not answer anyone’s calls.

Days blur into weeks. You often dream of you and Vee as girls learning to sew from your mom. When a boy had been exceptionally cruel she’d shown you the best way to box him in the ear. Sometimes it’s your dad, listening to him read or describe how the Starscourge would be purified one day, piece by piece as long as everyone did their part.

Your relationship with your parents had been one of pure warmth and adoration, despite their frequent absences. They had taught you humility in the face of adversity, to not compromise in what you believe. And you are broken. You had taken so much of the moments you had together for granted.

Handfuls of those dreams star...a strange fox-thing. It’s an unnatural aqua color, a small horn in the center of its head, stood by as a guide would. Familiar and unfamiliar.

A Citadel healer attempts to speak to Pluvia and you about your loss. What is there to say?

Ora is by your side no matter what. You are so grateful for her.

Consilio interviews you and your sister separately, inquiring about your parent's work in Gralea, specifically in the city of Nifelheim.

“Refugee resettlement services on behalf of the kingdom,” you answer automatically, the use of passed tense being thrown around by your best friend’s father incredibly surreal, “For those wanting to leave the continent. A not-for-profit organization called the Warriors of Light. They’d been in Accordo for a while in some small town outside of Altissia, assisted Galahd refugees in Insomnia that needed housing, clothes...”

He questions Imbris’s departure, troubled by your brothers intentions with the Empire.

You can’t do this.

Noctis allows you to stay at his condo whenever was needed. Nothing against Consilio, but it was already difficult enough for him and the other members of Council reasoning with Niflheim. Iggy did not make a fuss, not once, about more mouths to feed, his own tenderness showing up in treats he remembered you liking.

The prince is adept at diversion, but it makes sense. His poor mother, Queen Aulea, passed when he was an infant. And **he** had almost died.

How easy to overlook this sardonic, lazy kid carried a childhood more fraught than anything you could imagine; responsibility to inherit a world in tatters ever since ancient Solheim turned on their King God Ifrit- The Great War of Old - constantly looming overhead.

Vee leans close to Prompto during Noctis’s retelling of the Citadel healers being ineffective, King Regis caught amidst the fear of suffocating his injured son and holding him too far at arm's length, and finally going to Tenebrae, to Queen Sylva. The manner in which he speaks of Luna is reverant. He apologizes for your parents, though you’d _never_ blamed he or King Regis.

The prince is hoarse by the end of it, and as tears stream down your chin, not caring that it must be a sight, you grasp the back of the Prince’s skull, firmly bussing his forehead.

He blinks, owl-eyed and flustered.

Pluvia practically pushes Prompto to go to him, and he re-positions himself beside Noctis. An unspoken intimacy connects the two, Prompto gently coaxing the prince to his shoulder. There, he is safe. Prompto might as well be fashioned from protective magic itself by how he clutches at Prompto’s shirt.

Gladio closes his eyes, hands steepled over his mouth. He is the Prince’s Shield, and Noctis is and always will be a brat. But he does wish he could have been there when the daemons attacked the royal motorcade, or when Fenestala Manor was overtaken.

Ora tries to prevent Ignis from leaving as he opens the front door, ditching his shoes and coat.

You tell everyone to stay put, shoving your own sneakers half on, grabbing Ignis’s slippers at least - damn he’s quick. There’s no trace of the Retainer until out of your peripheral you spot him in the rooftop garden.

“Iggy, you hypocrite!” you scold, aiming for levity as cool outside air greets you, “Running out here without…”

Glasses in hand, he tries to hide his own tears.

_You’ve lost the most, and at such an impressionable age. Reared to be a vassal before you could be a man, forced to be a father, in a way, with scarcely recollection of your own. But you genuinely care about Noct so much._

It’s a dumb idea, and you internally chastise yourself, digits slipping through his to offer comfort. There are no words, no other movement save for him squeezing your hand, begging for a moment.

You’d give him every sunrise to sunset you'll ever have.

\---------------

Not wanting classmates to assume there's favoritism, instead of allowing Ignis to drive you to class you and Vee walk together when she is a Freshman. They are walks strangled by a gaping void.

Vee demands that Gladiolus include her in his Crownsguard training. Not officially, of course - just during any downtime he may have, showing her basic exercises. Pluvia is a force to be reckoned with, and you know you can’t dissuade her. You tell Gladio this when he asks your permission, his brow furrowed in worry.

“Might be good to have an outlet for whatever she’s going through right now,” you shrug, still in a pair of sweatpants and tank top at noon. It’s the weekend. Ora and you brought Consilio lunch, and putting together outfits used to be your favorite hobby. Lately, though...

“If you say so, babe.” That makes you smirk at him, that sugary endearment. Gladio is pleased, then he scrutinizes you, and you’re afraid he’ll try to dig up your own buried issues that have been hard to manage. But this is Gladiolus Amicitia. He has one love language.

Tough love.

“You're coming, too. 6PM. And don’t say you don’t have the gear - just use your school gym uniform.”

Ifrit’s left testicle, _WHY._

\---------------

6PM, on the dot after dinner you and Vee amble into the training room that the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard utilize. It’s quiet and awkward, nothing like the raucous chaos you’re familiar with ringing through the criss crossed ceiling beams.

 Somewhere else for you to feel misplaced. Great.

 Vee doesn’t say a word and keeps staring forward at nothing.

 It’s hateful, what’s happened. A yawning chasm still steadily growing in your relationship.

You take note of the skull motifs on corbel masonry projecting from the adjacent side of the training area.

 

_Death. Inescapable._

The brunette pushes off the wall and beelines for what appears to be gloves left on a training mat. Aftering shoving them on Vee begins to air box a bit, slightly uncoordinated as Blitzball concentrated more on leg exercises. Despite her past sports experience her jabs increase in speed; she was always the natural born athlete in the family.

Then she turns her frustrations on you. You barely duck in time, avoiding a lethal right-hook, frightened by such rage. Without much of a warning you fumble to find something to defend with, and nearly bludgeon yourself grabbing a staff off the weapons rack.

You were out of your element, man - dance had been the extent of your work out regimen since you were old enough to walk, and continue to evade her attacks by a narrow margin, tucking backwards. Never would you have entertained the idea of using a damn barrell roll to avoid an uppercut that would’ve brought you to Bahamut himself, muscles straining to keep up.

“Astrals, Pluvia! What the hell is wrong with you?” you shout, caring about accidentally hurting your sibling. She was lost, wild, unhinged, and what must have been so much buried grief was bubbling up.

“You could’ve made Imbris stay! You did _nothing_!” Vee cries.

Your chest burns, sadness choking you, because she is right. Imbris hadn’t called or wrote and because of that you'd given up and sunk into yourself. You’d failed your little sister - you were all each other had left.

Vee springs into the air, sailing straight for you - shouts erupt from those that have gathered in a semi-circle. Of course there was an audience.

You should have let her do it, but you were a coward. The burning in your sternum intensifies as you lift your arm and yell, “STOP.”

The word clicks into the space between you and Vee, like a malfunctioning watch, minute and second hands frozen.

 _What_ …?

Vee was suspended above you by at least a foot, unmoving, her mien a painful rendition of pure suffering.

Your outstretched fingertips tremble, uncomprehending as to what was happening in that instant, turning your head. Gladiolus is mid-run, the remorse clear in his expression with his father, (a stern man you had come to know as Clarus) shouting behind him. Prompto has his body blocking Noctis from doing something foolish, strange bright blue sparks emitting from the heir of Lucis - magic?

Ignis and Oratia were also there - Ignis has somehow made it the furthest across the room, reaching out. Always endeavoring to protect you all, even from yourselves.

_Oh Iggy._

Excruciating pain - you were blazing from the inside out, shame a festering wound. You move to sit up, to wrap your darling Vee in a crushing embrace, to finally allow yourselves to cry until there was nothing left, but guilt pins you there.

Soft. A soft, tiny chin rubs against yours. Your head tilts to the other side. A…turquoise creature, the sweetest fox-thing you’d ever seen, cuddles up to you with dark eyes big. But they are wise and so very sad.

A bell twinkles.

No, that twinkling...the fox-thing was _speaking_ . In your _mind_.

**_It’s OK to be afraid. It’s OK to let go._ **

In a flash of red the clock resumes and someone has grabbed you, the force of it causing you to slide across the polished flooring.

That creature was quickly gone from your thoughts and one thought remains: _Pluvia?_

Of all people Prompto got to her first, checking to ensure she hadn’t hurt herself too bad from impacting where you had once been laying, and it was Noctis who saved you, asking if you were alright.

You keep examining your hand as if the appendage is evil and must be amputated.

 _Stop_.

\---------------

The next time you officially meet your King you will never forget it, stood proudly before him and the entire council in a dress you’d started making with your mother.

And the Kingsglaive, whom you’d not yet been acquainted with, line the back wall looking...very, **_very_ ** scary.

"You’re not in trouble,” a gentle timbre advises. Right, His Majesty. Are you trembling? Can he tell at this distance? “Believe me, if possessing a talent for magic bestowed by the Crystal was a treasonable offense, well. A good portion of this room would be in trouble, myself included.”

Most of the Kingsglaive actually...snicker at this.

One in particular, a man shroud in furs and leather, silvery hair cut short and irises sparkling, flashes you a toothy grin.

You huff in disbelief.

Regis readjusts himself in his throne, beseeching, “Please come forward.”

Oh Six, was it even proper etiquette for a King to ask his subject “please”?

That alone inspires you to all but jog closer, but not too close that a well-placed dagger could apparate and eliminate you.

“It is a gift. I can tell you understand that, and you are in no way obligated to take up this offer. But we have those that can train you if that is your wish, to join ranks of the Glaive, the Guard, or even the Citadel’s mages. No matter how insignificant you believe your talents would be to aid us know that you are needed, as is all in Eos.”

A lump forms in your throat at such a profound speech. _Dad_ …

Ignis and Noctis had drilled you on this extremely limited control of Time you’d exhibited. The former claimed it was unusual, though not unheard of. A weak resonance with the Crystal.

Weak. What a relief.

Although you owed so much to the city, the Citadel, rising up during your greatest hour of need, you just wanted to go back to the way things were, as best as possible. You’d been up all night with your friends until exhaustion set in - they’d gone to bed and you had bowed your head and prayed for guidance to whoever listened.

To Luna.

“I am indebted to you for what you’ve done for my sister and I. And now this. But I must...ask you, your Majesty. If I might suggest a compromise?”

The council regards you with a dourness that seems palpable.

Regis nods to go on.

“If I could...perhaps train to...help control the small amount of power I possess. But I also find myself actually...actually wanting to go to University. For. Um, fashion.”

More leers crop up within the Kingsglaive group.

You wring your hands together. “So that I can become a seamstress here. And learn to imbue my magic and gems to help fortify you, the prince, your Glaive, the Guard.”

His Majesty’s smile reminds you of his son - it is quite becoming - and you have been granted a preview of your friend’s future self.

After sending off a retainer to god knows where a man and woman step forward. _Oh_. The Royal Sartors, whom you get to know very well in the coming years.

Hopefully it isn’t indecent to smile back so stupidly at your magnanimous sovereign.

\---------------

Pluvia and you reconcile your differences shortly after the scene in the training room. Oratio, her and you hole up together with several pounds of chocolate and rom coms, mending rifts depression and anxiety have made.

Consillio and you agree that instead of your frequent sleepovers at the prince’s abode you would once again stay with him until graduation.

It’s a difficult pill to swallow, but Noctis is in his prime years. He has his retinue and necessitates laser focus on what is important. School is a hellish enough concession to maintain.

Junior year is nearly over. You see the boys less and less, reintegrating with old classmates that that had given you space to grieve. You do not tell them about your close affiliation with royals - nothing good would become of it - nor about your...abilities.

Vee does likewise - you visit the Citadel only to see mentor mages in the evenings and your sister more often than not trains with Gladio. Admittedly, you sneak in a few of those lessons as well - he finds your experience in dance funny at first, but in the end it’s a great foundation for what he can teach you of his Crownsguard tutelage.

Nyx Ulric is the name of the Glaive you’d noticed in the throne room. He introduces himself when he and Cor (The Perpetually Scowling Immortal) run into you after having business on that end of the building.

A cocky guy, but good-natured otherwise, he jokes that your ancestors “must be from Galahd with those kind of tricks”.

He ends up teaching you the most about Time magic, sigils, reserving energy. It's exhausting, although good for more distraction.

Senior year drops out of nowhere. You're so caught up in college applications, Vee’s matches, Ora’s choir concerts, it's been eon since you've hung with the guys.

Prompto remedies that with a text.

**Prom: Chicky! U have ‘splainin’ 2 do. Wanna get coffee soon? (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ**

_Explaining to do?_ You wonder what he means, but are ecstatic to indulge in some overpriced java with your favorite sunflower.

**Y/N: ༼ つ ಥ_ಥ ༽つ I didn’t do it! But yes, let’s get coffee ASAP plzoplzoplz!**

Saturday rush at Ivalice Café is at its peak when you arrive just before Prompto scheduled you to meet. You grab a piping hot cup of Ebony and a double shot of espresso for blondie.

A booth opens up just as you get the beverages in hand, and you slide in before it's snatched.

People watching passes the minutes until he materializes, your mind wandering. Praesidia used to get the Yuna tea infuser. Imbris always ordered a mocha with extra whipped cream. He had the worst sweet tooth…

You sigh, letting it roll off your conscience.

“Chicky!” Prompto enters the shop, rocking his skater look that you can’t get enough of, because it’s not stereotypical. No backwards hat with oversized brim or too long shirt that's passed trendy into schlub territory. No atrocious pants with the crotch by the knees! Just a plaid shirt tied around his hips, comfy band tee, fitted dark wash jeans and forearms covered with every bracelet classmates have given him (the amethyst one gifted by Vee, LGBT rainbows, disability and mental illness support) on proud display.

Sweetness personified.

You get up to hug each other, offering him the double espresso.

Prompto pretends to bow to you with a litany of “I’m not worthy”.

“Get in the booth before you embarrass us both,” you chastise, tweaking his nose.

He plops down across from you, chugging his double espresso in record time, and doesn't come up for air until it's done.

You shake your head. “Your poor heart is gonna explode if you keep doing that. Moderation!”

He has the decency to look sheepish, steering the conversation toward new photos he’s taken with a hand-me-down digital camera. It’s a very basic touristy model, so little can be done with lighting, but his composition is decent. A couple of the photos aren’t city skylines or macro shots of his favorite textures. They’re portraits.

Selphie, who runs the school website, uncharacteristically serene as she arranges a vase of flowers on a classroom window sill.

A zoom in of Wakka, the easygoing blitzball captain, perched atop a diving board in the gym’s pool, instructing his team below as reflective water casts patterns across his body.

Noctis...outside, under the Lover’s Lattice (a structure veiled in vines, providing a makeshift hideaway for amorous teens), reclined like a big, indulgent feline with sunlight piercing through areas the vines don’t cover.

At a loss of what to say other than an outpouring of compliments Prompto coughs to cover up his embarrassment, taking the camera back and ruffling through his messenger bag to pull out…

A letter.

“This is why I originally wanted to see you.”

Your eyeballs are about to pop out, silently asking him permission to examine it.

He bobs his head, smile lopsided and freckles bunching up on his nose, wrinkled in anticipation.

It smells faintly of sylleblossoms.

The creases are well-worn. There’s ink splatter and water stains - it’s much older than yours. The handwriting is a bit more juvenile, but definitely Lunafreya’s.

She wrote to a young Prompto, praising that he is a great person and highly encouraging him to befriend Prince Noctis, echoing the sentiments of what was sent to you.

“I was adopted,” Prompto says at length, and his voice is firm. You can tell it’s practiced, and you might be the only person he’s confessed this to other than himself. “My adoptive parents are majorly busy, but they’re cool...I lucked out, y’know? I just...I’ve still been lonely. A-and I know that sounds selfish, but I didn’t know how to make friends. I’d just sit at home and play video games. Heh, well, I still kinda do.” You both snicker. This is the most forthright he’s ever been with you. He bites his bottom lip, scratching the back of his neck. “Filled the loneliness with that and food. I was a chunkster for awhile, believe it or not.”

“Whoa, whoa - _you_?” you butt in, having almost burned your tongue on your still scalding hot coffee.

Lean, mean, running machine Prompto Argentum?

“Yeah man, I liked me my noms. After Luna and I started to be pen pals, though, I did try to say hi to Noct. Made of a fool of myself. Nearly didn’t go through with it at all. I wanted to be... _needed_ to be a better me.” His eyelids slam shut, but he doesn’t stop, “For Noct and Luna. For myself. For my parents. Wherever I’m really from…” You notice Prompto touch his left wrist, “I was given a chance. A new lease on life, or whatever. I had to make the best of it and not waste that.”

How he talks about it, there is subtext there that you can’t parse right now. It will take you a little bit longer and some other life experiences to fully understand it, but here in the coffee shop you smooth a soothing thumb over Prompto’s anxiety-white knuckles and discuss just how amazing Lunafreya and Noctis are to you.

 _Do not forget baby boy. You are not alone and you are_ **_so_ ** _needed._

Nearly finished with your drink, Prompto leans back in his chair, saying with an air of nonchalance, “Iggy misses you.”

The rest of your Ebony is swallowed down the wrong pipe and you choke out, “W-what?”

“Oh em GEE,” the blonde crows, fist slamming the table, “Vee was right! Damn it, dude. I owe her like, 50 munny. How the hell did I not know you’re mad crushin’ on him?! It makes so much sense, the brooding intellectual is totally your type!”

“I’mma kill Vee, I swear-”

“Nah Chicky, don’t even sweat it. I’ll keep your secret safe. He is your friend, though. Have a friend date once in awhile.”

Prompto’s words shock your system by their simplicity and maturity. Your lips quirk shyly in response.

What would you do without him?

\---------------

February 7 752 M.E.

The chance for a “friend date”, per Prompto’s colloquial way of describing it, crops up on Igster’s 18th birthday.

You owe him (plus Pluvia, Ora, and the other boys minus Noctis, who had a legitimate princely excuse, the bastard) MAJORLY for moving you out of Consilio’s into your own micro studio apartment situated a stone's throw from Insomnia’s College of Fashion.

You’d been so delirious with joy getting into college that standing in the bare bones furnished apartment was dreamlike.

Fast forward almost 6 months into your first semester you get a text from Noctis (that makes you stumble into Intro to Fashion Design Development).

**HRH (His Royal Highness): Yo celebrating Specs bday & Crownsguard. 7th Heaven @ 6?**

The prince “gives bad text” as Pluvia puts it, so it takes a few attempts to translate Noctese. Specs is his nickname for Ignis, and oh dang - it’s his birthday! But Crownsguard?

“YES!” you shout at the revelation that Ignis Scientia has been formally inducted into the Crownsguard with Gladiolus.

Your lecture hall buddy, Ale, stares at you until you’ve calmed down, leaning over to hiss, “You’re lucky class hasn’t started yet!”

_Oops._

**Y/N: Count me in. Take a nap beforehand, I know you need your beauty sleep.**

Noctis is quick to reply with a row of middle finger emojis.

 _Hehehehe_.

Next, Ignis. You exhale loudly, banging out a message and hitting send.

 **Y/N: Happy birthday old man. <3**  
  
**Iggy: Is this Iris?**

You balk at the notion.

**Y/N: It’s Y/N!**

**Iggy: I’m teasing, only because Iris sent me a similar well wish at midnight. But thank you. :)**

You’ve yet to meet Iris, but you cannot wait if she’s put him in such a good mood that he’s cracking jokes.

**Y/N: She sounds like an absolute delight. I’ll be seeing you @ 7th Heaven later. Might stop by to harass you - class only until 2.**

**Ignis: Noctis and his father have conspired to give me most of the day off. I find myself unexpectedly without afternoon plans. If it’s not an imposition perhaps I could meet you at yours?**

Shut the front door.

“DO IT,” Ale screeches, having been reading over your shoulder, right when the teacher walks in.

_Oooops._

\---------------

Clothes crammed into an abused wicker hamper. Check. Dishes cleaned and stored. Check. Windows cracked to waft in freshness and let out any staleness. Cheeeeck.

You have a smudge stick from another college colleague - she’s a massive spiritualist and though your faith was at _meh_ status, you light that sucker up and ask your old Cosmongy pals to banish negative energy and funky odors from your apartment. Ignis is _so_ precise and clean. Nothing else seems out of place, though, so you fall into your favorite thrifted wingback chair.

You’ve had a guy over...once. It ended….er. You made out on the couch, and when he cupped a boob he may have said, “You have really nice boobs” and you may have answered, “Thanks, I grew them myself?”

_Uuuggh._

This was a FRIEND date. No mackin’ out. Tranquility. Zen. Imagine the ocean in your Mind's Eye. Galdin Quay, its pristine, diamond sparkle sands, clear waters. Picture yourself there. Everything is fine, everything is grand.

You picture yourself snogging Ignis on a beach.

AW, COME ON-

Sharp knocking causes you to leap up as if burned, fanning away the evidence of such lurid fantasies on your face, and you throw the door open too violently.

Ignis blinks, “My apologies, one of your neighbors let me in the front just as I was about to ring you…”

Reign it in, Y/N. Do not get distracted by the nice check overcoat he’s got on. The professional darts in that waistline, though. “Dear widow Fondell. She’d let in a serial killer if they were good-looking and willing to taste-test her food. You’re fortunate she didn’t trap you. Want to come in?”

Ignis holds up two tickets and chuckles, “Iris dropped these off at my office when I wasn’t looking. The Botanical Gardens. They have an indoor exhibit I’ve heard good things about and thought we could go there before dinner.”

Mayday, mayday, he was somehow making this more of an actual date thing!

Stop over exaggerating - just go, you spaz. Iggy has sought you out to spend part of his birthday with. Sit down, be humble.

“I would love to. Just let me get my purse and stuff?”

He seems to breathe out in relief, and giddiness flutters in your stomach. You snag your coat, stop, having not remembered what you’d put on for the day. You’re wearing a tweed knit pullover sweater coupled with pleather pants that make your butt look like a pert peach. Score, you’d gone for cute and not old yoga bottoms. Well done past self.

“Ready!”

\---------------

The gardens are lush and prettier than when you’d last visited in junior high. Myriads of colors get your creative juices flowing and you snap, give or take, a billion pictures to use in upcoming projects, educating Ignis on species of flora that you recall learning about from your gran’ma.

The Royal Retainer admires nature’s splendor (an irrational voice in your head had almost convinced you this was too girly for him, but he’d offered!), absorbing your words and asking terrific questions. He probably excelled in natural biology as he did any subject, but his curiosity is authentic.

What matters is he’s enjoying himself.

There’s floral infused desserts that catch Ignis’s attention in the food court, though he makes no move for the kiosk.

 _So modest, Iggy_ , you snigger, certain he does not want to spoil his dinner. He protests when you purchase strawberry rose macarons, and you ignore him to instead pay the cashier, taking a bite out of your treat. The intention had been to put on a show about how delicious they were, so Ignis would be enticed to have one, but you don’t have to act.

_Stick an IV of this gooey, sugary heaven in me._

“Ignis Stupeo Scientia, if you don’t have one I’m eating them all and I’ll blame you for not being able to fit into my wardrobe anymore.”

“Why did I tell you my middle name? And I highly doubt that will ever occur,” he argues, murmuring his gratitude as he bites into his own macaron.

Thank you for this day, the day that you may have glimpsed your crush’s o face as his expression contorts into bliss.

“Y/N. Promise me you won’t tell anyone about whatever mortifying noise I just made.”

“It’s your birthday, Ignis, I’d help you hide a body and provide an alibi.”

He shoots you a playful glare, completely tempered by his dimples.

_I am cured of any ailments, my crops are flourishing, a golden choco chick has been born._

“Iggy!”

Across the food court a trio of adorable girls wearing (amusingly enough) the local junior high uniform wave your way. Ignis melts a little, greeting one of the young ladies in particular with a one-armed hug. “Miss Amicitia. I am grateful for the gift, but I am still stumped on how you continue to break into the Citadel offices.”

“A lady never tells!”

Oh, this chestnut-haired cherub is Iris.

You stand aside, picking out features in her that resemble Gladio and Clarus until she gives you her full attention. “Ignis, you haven’t introduced me to your pretty girlfriend~”

Aah, the standard blunt tween assumption. You smile patiently, acknowledging that Ignis will outright refute this claim. Obviously you do want to be his main squeeze in your heart of hearts, but are content nonetheless.

“Now Iris, she’s not my-”

“Fine, your friend that happens to be a girl,” she amends with an eye roll, her companions giggling.

“This is Y/N Tempus. I believe you’ve made her sister Pluvia’s acquaintance.”

Iris fistpumps, shocking you by her reaction to your name. “Oh my gosh, that’s why I thought I knew you - you and Vee are like...like sun and moon, but you look so similar!”

She is a riot and a half, checking that _Gladdy_ isn't being a jerk, regaling you with how at 5 years old she’d gotten turned around in the Citadel gardens (“Better than the Botanic Gardens!”) following a cat, and when all hope was lost Noctis swooped in, her knight in shining armor.

You file that morsel away under _Adorable Noctis Blackmail_.

At length Iris excuses herself as she still has homework to finish. She hugs you, adding a wink as the other girls run away, saying something about catching a train.

Ignis is giving you an particular _look._  Oof, did the staff crank up the temperature?

The rest of your stay at the exhibit is a luxurious stroll in companionable conversation about Ignis picking up fast on stratagem and tactics. His mentors foresee him accomplishing much in verbal as well as physical battles.

Noct’s studies are coming along nicely but His Royal Highness is fretful for better weather to go fishing. Ignis admits Noct deserves a bit of respite.

 _Softy_.

You muse that soon enough this fancy for Ignis will fade, you’ll fully value what you have, and that thought drifts away when you register you’ve wandered to an elaborate, wrought iron display case, lured by a distinct fragrance.

“Sylleblossoms,” you and Ignis say simultaneously. You want to ask if he’s ever visited Tenebrae, but no - Noct must have told him about them after...ah. You do not ask.

A placard closeby describes the exact genus before you, where they can be found, but you have drifted into memory, grazing vivid indigo petals that resemble the gentiana genus.

You haven't heard from Luna since pooling together munny to ship out her favorite trinkets that aren’t available in her country, a photo via Prompto of the group, and personal notes.

Noctis had taken the longest to pen his.

You yearn to visit Luna. To repay any ounce of kindness she's given you. But with her kingdom under Nifelheim’s stranglehold...that might not ever happen. She’s being paraded around the globe as the empire’s Oracle healer, curing any who are afflicted and downtrodden.

You know it’s the Starscourge disease that the world denies is spreading outside the Wall, a cruel reminder that the Crown City may not be the haven you'd believed as a child.

Iggy’s witnessed you at your worst, but that doesn't stop you from pivoting away, rummaging for tissue in your purse. Damn it, there was a pack somewhere in this mess--

An embroidered kerchief comes to your rescue, and you accept it to dab your cheeks.

Ignis provides a wide berth and ample opportunity to get your shit together, coming back to offer a gloved hand. You take it, fingers entwined.

_Fuck it, I’m in love._

\---------------

The metro is the best method of travel to 7th Heaven, leaving Ignis’s car in the Botanic Gardens parking lot (the trains are faster than driving in rush hour). You expect to be the first ones there - Noct is notorious for being late and usually drags anyone within radius into his bad habits.

Tifa, the owner, unlocks the bar so that you may slip in and is the epitome of amicable cheer.

She’s had Gladio as a part-time bouncer since he was 17 (not that it’s required, you’ve seen her deck unfortunate bastards dumb enough to cross the busty bruiser - and her fiancé is downright lethal when he’s hovering about) but she’ll close up early to entertain Gladio’s company or the Glaive, even if they’re not quite old enough to drink.

You all know Tifa’s rules and are in no hurry to break them.

Ignis is taken aback, Noct waiting for him at a long table in the middle of the establishment. Prompto, Gladio and Pluvia slow clap his entrance, whistling like obnoxious hooligans, but when they clock you in Ignis’s wake the 4 freeze, obviously not anticipating you to be out with one another.

Prompto cannot contain himself, eyebrows shooting up. Gladio clicks his tongue suggestively, Pluvia simpers, and you can see revenge for your earlier beauty sleep comment brewing in Noctis’s gaze.

You give the universal motion to Have Mercy and Noctis is in a forgiving mood, thank the gods. “Don’t just stand there Specs.” He pulls out a chair for his longtime companion, faux airs and graces.

“I don't think I could be more impressed if you were served an entire 3 three course meal of vegetables and ate every last portion,” Ignis eyes narrow toward Noctis.

At that moment you hear Tifa and what must be Oratia making their way from the kitchens, platters of scrumptious dinner going onto the long table. Vee jumps to grab dishes off Tifa.

Ora kisses the top of her cousin's head, humming a traditional happy birthday tune.

Ignis’s blushes, doing everything in his power to relieve her of the serving plates, yelping as she gives him a rather hard _thwack_. “Leviathan wept Oratia, am I bleeding?”

“For once in your miserable service to the crown-"

 “I'm right here, Ora,” Noctis points out.

 “-let someone else wait on you, Ignis. You’re officially an adult and a member of the Guard.”

Birthday boy bristles, the inclination to take care of others ingrained in his DNA.

His love language.

Noctis, still pouting at Ora’s spectacular zinger, grumps, “They let you loose from the archives?”

“I know, I'm paranoid that I reek of dust and am on the verge of stumbling across an archaic lantern that would have conjured forth a diablos when disturbed.

‘Who dares to make a covenant with me?’ he would have bellowed, to which I would have responded, ‘Sir, I dare. Now switch places with me so I might stay in that lantern for the remainder of eternity as this catalogue tripe these old men have me working on has me on my arse,” the academic pretends to swoon.

Ignis scoffs at his beloved cousin’s sarcasm and dramatics. “I blame Gladio’s influence for your wayward behavior.”

The aforementioned man slaps his knee, indecently proud of such an accusation. “I know that was meant as a steep insult to my morals, but he ain't wrong.”

You happen to take offense and argue, “Oy, I wasn't apart of this corruption?”

Vee seconds this, kicking at the leg of Ignis’s stool.

Gladio relents to that point, going along with it. “True, babe. You taught her the most important thing in her repertoire - the art of seduction. I've been privy to that dancer flexibility of yours.”

_Gladdy, there was a line, and you couldn't just cross it. You had to launch yourself into space._

Tifa had served Ignis an old fashioned and as he was mid tentative sip, he gags.

Noctis and Prompto cry laughing, falling over each other.

Festivities move to Ora’s mouthwatering Ebony cheesecake, then presents.

Coffee, cookbooks, novels, a smartwatch to assist his heavy duty schedule (he syncs it to his smartphone right away), luxury cooking utensils and a nudie mag courtesy of who-do-you-think. Ignis rolls up the magazine and wails on the Shield until he repents.

_Oh my god._

Iggy’s duly earned his position in the Guard if he can whip an Amicitia with a magazine.

You apologize to Ignis as your gift is handmade and taking longer than you’d predicted. He waves it off and claims your time spent together today was perfect.

Last, but not least, Noctis produces an envelope out of his puffy parka. He hands it to his Retainer, and his genuine happiness for Ignis is evident.

A birthday card?

Ignis flips the envelope flap up, easing out its contents.

Prompto and you can tell it's not a birthday card.

 _Luna_.

A letter eases your trepidation from earlier and everyone begins to converse about the princess and her older brother Ravus. Noctis has no comment on him, but Ravus is a cold fish in every interview you've seen if him, exuding a stoic ruthlessness.

“I bet he’s an animal between the sheets,” Pluvia adds, and at this Gladio starts posturing with claims that he can take Ravus, no problem.

Prompto pretends to be the Tenebraen prince, the Shield performing a staged pile drive on poor blondie.

You and Noctis wince, knowing first hand even when holding back Gladio might have accidentally killed the younger male.

Ignis rests his chin in his palm, brimming with fondness for these idiots. “Famous last words, Amicitia.”

\---------------

The get-together wraps up at 10PM. On a weekday.

Mistakes have been made.

There's still time to sober up from the heavily poured drinks Tifa Lockheart subjected all your mostly virgin livers to - the brisk, February night serves to remedy some of that.

Gladio couldn't get wasted if he tried, so he takes it upon himself to tuck the other babies in.

You offered to grab a cab back to your apartment complex, but Ignis insists that he has calculated from the point he asked Tifa to cut him off, left her bar, and eventually locates the vehicle, that he will be legally able to drive.

Alright, you gorgeous nerd.

Your nice buzz lingers, and you’re faintly aware that you won't shut up. Gods, there's no doubt you and Vee are cut from the same cloth. Birthday boy doesn't mind as you pretty much spill into his car, haphazardly Grand Jeté down the hall of your apartment's first floor, and he even volunteers to be a impromptu dance partner, twirling you on your welcome mat.

You're both out of breath, and you feel a lightness in you that is mirrored in Ignis’s eyes. This may be the most he’s let his guard down since you met him, and it's a good look on the Retainer.

He reaches toward you-

_Wait, is he going to--_

-and offers you a bag you'd assumed was the rest of the macarons and leftover dinner.

It's not. There's potted sylleblossoms insulated from the frost by plastic. What, when, how--at the exhibit?

“You are very precious to me, Y/N.”

Gladio’s text advising that the youngins have been put down for the night jolts you out of your stupor after Ignis has departed.

 **Y/N: Gladdy Daddy, you are actually the best.**  
\---------------

Ale is a much better jeweler than you, and there’s a part of Ignis’s belated present you are struggling with. She not only helps you but invites you over to her and her girlfriend's place to complete it.

You are extremely jealous of your colleague's gem tumbler and tools.

Solli, Ale’s partner, gushes over how romantic you are after explaining you wanted to facet the raw amethysts from your favorite bracelet and incorporate them into the piece.

_Yup, that’s me. Hapless romantic._

There may possibly ~~definitely~~ be about 15 grams of the incredibly rare mythril ore missing from the Royal Armory’s forging supply?

Finding a tutorial on how to melt a material that was only found deep in the haunted ruins of Vesperpool proved to be a challenge.

Baring dexterous trial and error - et voila, its melting point turns out to be similar to gold!

The pendant is carved in wax, delicately detailed with pointy tools and cast using a lost-wax method.

After the necklace is finished you promise to be Ale’s bitch until you graduate, and she heartily accepts.

It is pertinent to then seek out one Iris Amicitia, putting her lockpicking skills to good use. She shouts in glee, exchanging phone numbers so you do not have to invoke the stars to align for your paths to cross at the Citadel.

Blood, sweat, an abundance of Ebony consumption and tears have never been so worth the labor when you see Ignis again and there's a glint of a purple-eyed skull shining from the collar of his shirt.  

_Iggy -_

_To take a page from your book I've decided to give you your overdue present on my birthday. Turnabout is fair play._

_P.S. Don’t tell me if you hate it, my ego is quite fragile._

_xxx Y/N_


End file.
